


A Compilation of Murder Shorts

by InsaneandBloody



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneandBloody/pseuds/InsaneandBloody
Summary: Welcome to an unnecessary pile of Bioshock killing fics that I pulled together as part of an exchange with @t0talcha0s. Variation is scattered throughout it. If anyone happens to want to make a request on these things, I'm all ears, considering I do /not/ write as much as I should.





	1. Jack/Julie Langford

The wave of gas hit Jack like a freight train. It burned his lungs and made his eyes itch, and the trees wilted past the blur of his vision. It wasn't right. By the time it had cleared up, Arcadia wasn't Arcadia anymore: leaves dropped dead, grass withered and browning - it just _was not right_. Jack hadn't been this uneasy since he had first docked into Rapture, since his first splicer, he hardly heard the hum of the radio as Atlas tuned in.

"...no botanist, but I think Ryan has just killed Arcadia. Give me a spell to think." Jack exhaled deeply through his nose as the air began to settle, trying to breathe again. "Ryan's woman in Arcadia is an old Betty named Langford. If she's still kicking around, I'm sure she's gonna want to save her trees."

Jack was not a man who wasted time. If this woman, Langford, was agreeable, then he was willing to search high and lo for her. His shoes crumpled dead leaves as he navigated the halls, following rotten boards of directional signs before falling upon the door. Her door. It was hard to miss it, all lighted up with her name in big letters. Jack stepped through, shifting the weight of his wrench in his hand.

The door to her laboratory was wide open. Normally, this would be a blessing, but Jack had learned to assume the worst. If she _had_ been holed up in here, the splicers had finally caught scent of her. Jack wandered the rooms, noting every dusty bottle and aged paper left out in her absence. Dammit.

Atlas was wrong. For once, Atlas had been wrong, and Jack desperately needed a back-up plan, fast. He paces the office, yanking the radio from off of his hip to contact the man, pushing down the call button.

Jack's ears begin to ring. His grip loosens until it is lost entirely, and the radio clatters to the tiled floors. Atlas has said something - many times, if jack can hear him right - but Jack can't concentrate. The metal pressed into his lower back is still warm from the shot, and he can't help but feel something wet oozing down his stomach, his sweater sticking to him so uncomfortably.

He doesn't remember when exactly his face hit the cool embrace of the floor, or when the wound finally stopped aching. He remembers a face, framed by soft, blonde waves, staring down at him. Speaking to him. Spitting out "you shouldn't have come"'s and "that's what you deserve"'s to a man whom she'd never met. He doesn't remember his shuddering breath, or shutting his eyes.

  
Julie Langford hitches the strap of her gun higher on her shoulder. Her felt slip shoes are stained red, and her hands shake at the scene she has made of her lab. She knew /he/ was coming for her eventually, and knew that she wasn't about to become the next Culpepper incident in Ryan's book. Not this time.


	2. Brigid Tenenbaum/Jack

Frank Fontaine hadn’t paid any mind when Steinman was slaughtered. He barely batted an eye watching Julie Langford suffocate in her own office, _laughed_ as Ryan was pummeled down by his own damned golf club, the bastard. Frank wasn’t heartless, not in so many words – business was business.

 

The short-wave radio had been turned down low, a sort of white noise to him. Jack was with the kraut, he knew. The German obscenities being tossed at Jack, muffled under the static. He wasn’t worried. She had always been an angry woman, since the day he’d hired her, of course she’d have a mouthful to say about all of this. He hadn’t bothered to listen in, ripping a match along his desk and setting up a cigar for himself as evening settled.

 

He heard a _crack._

Frank had jolted upright in his chair when he first heard it, yanking the radio’s knob to the side, full volume, listening. Only static. His first wave of nausea hits him: it’s the kid. It’s got to be the kid, she’s attacked his _one_ _fucking chance_ to ditch this fishbowl. She had some fucking nerve, damaging _his_ goods, _his_ property –

 

Another _crack_ echoes the radio’s speaker, and Frank hears Jack let out a breath. This isn’t comforting to him, somehow. Frank’s stomach is in knots as he realizes who took the blows. They sounded wet. Three hits, four, five, six, seven. It was unnecessary, it was so fucking unnecessary, and she had long since stopped crying out at the impact. He felt sick.

 

The silence was deafening. He can hear Jack’s breathing; the gentle clink of his wrench being readjusted as he moves around. “You were wrong about her,” he mutters, snapping Frank out of a daze, “there wasn’t anything watching over her. She was just as weak as the rest of them.”

 

“Jesus Christ, kid.” He can’t help himself. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, what the hell was all of that about?” He rubs the sweat off his temple, gripping the radio. He had prepared himself for something like this for months – Tenenbaum had been expendable her whole damned life. A good brain, a mediocre fuck, but entirely dispensable. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a gambling chip to him, she was still worth something in the long run. Jack hadn’t bothered to save her little gremlins from the very beginning – he needed all the ADAM he could get, and they were a goldmine. But Frank had never asked Jack to kill her. She had never been a serious threat, never put his life in danger. He killed her without asking. And that was fucking inexcusable.

 

 “She was being selfish. All of that ADAM, locked away in a sewer. She wouldn’t have ever used it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I love barely finishing shorts
> 
> Tumblr is @inhumanpsycho


	3. Brigid Tenenbaum/Andrew Ryan

The argument was one Andrew had not expected to enter today. Things had been running so smoothly since Fontaine's death. His men were quick to hollow out that sad shack of Fontaine Futuristics, collecting the miscellaneous scientists and doctors that worked tirelessly to produce ADAM to the masses. The work was sinful, an abomination to the city, _his_ city - but a profit, nonetheless. He could not deny that.

 

Presently, Brigid Tenenbaum stands adjacent to his desk, her tone sour and words curt to him. She was a gem to Fontaine, and he could see why. He also could see why she was not. These phone calls from Ryan Industries came on the daily, of call-outs and no-shows, of zero paperwork or progress. Of blatant rejection of the cause.

 

Ryan had a headache listening to the German. Her mind had fallen out of her work, and focused on those _things_ \- those monsters that plagued the great chain, their small hands so dangerously close to his own.

 

Brigid snaps his attention back into focus. "...will be handing in my form of resignation."

 

He has blinked his way back into reality. "Resignation?"

 

"It will be better for me, I hope. I cannot - I _will not_ do this any longer." She's trying to sound disappointed for his sake, he can tell, her voice is so uncharacteristically emotional. It doesn't make him feel any more relaxed. He rises from his chair, passing the edge of his desk with slow paces to stand before her.

 

"The company _needs_ your expertise, Miss Tenenbaum. Morality should not get in the way of the greater good." He's struck a nerve on her, too, her eyes are wide and cheeks flushed. "I cannot accept your letter."

 

"Then I'll not be in! I _refuse_." she spits at him, fists tight, "You are no better than him, you know! The 'greater good' is nothing to you, only money!"

 

Ryan's blood boils at the very mention. NO. No, he was _nothing_ like that scum, Fontaine, scraped off of the docks to live in luxury off of crime! His hand raises to the crook of her neck, a gesture that has already made her flinch, and he grips it there to make a statement. "Do not say such a thing to me again. We both know that's a _lie_."

 

It was her own mistake, to test her limits. "It is not a lie. You are _just_ like Frank." The words leave her lips like acid, and Andrew finds that his fingertips have taken to resting higher up her neck, squeezing tightly. His mind races, he is dizzy and sickened and _furious_ , knows that he is speaking to her but can no longer understand his own words. The woman was small, it hardly took any pressure before she began to choke. Choking turned into gasping, which led to panic, chewed down nails dug into his wrist and drew blood as she fought for her life. He was not looking to compromise.

 

Tenenbaum hit the polished floors of his office like a lead weight, crumpled and discolored in the face. He waited for her for what felt like hours to get back on her feet. She did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally always a sucker for making my good mother suffer
> 
> Tumblr is @inhumanpsycho

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is @inhumanpsycho


End file.
